Missing Pieces
by Tweeter
Summary: The team joins the FBI in investigating a serial killer. This story has been completed and will be posted one chapter a day. Chapter Seven is up! The story is now complete.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer:_ The usual disclaimers apply. I don't own these characters, just the original ones. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. Many thanks to my betas, Rinkle and Kate98, who were wonderful and turned this story around in record time, your comments and suggestions were the best. Thanks to ResearchGeek for encouragement.

**Missing Pieces, by Tweeter **

**Prologue**

Staff Sergeant Dennis Friberg was the picture of a perfect Marine – tall, handsome, intelligent, physically fit and respectful to superiors, women and elders. Underneath the perfect façade lay a primitive drive that made him a cold-blooded killer. He was really a _suspected_ killer, but because the person who suspected him was Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, it seemed fairly certain that he was the one they were looking for.

Gibbs had sent his senior field agent, Tony DiNozzo, along with Officer Ziva David, to pick up the suspect and bring him to headquarters for questioning. The two argued on the way to the elevator and Tony decided to be generous and let Ziva drive.

"I'm feeling lucky today," he said, grinning down at the Mossad agent.

"I'm an excellent driver," Ziva retorted causing Tony to snort in amusement.

"Whatever you say, Rainman." The two continued to squabble good-naturedly as they headed to the car.

An hour later, Gibbs was reading through Friberg's service record when his phone rang.

"Gibbs," he said gruffly. His tone changed to one of concern. "Where?" he asked, snapping his fingers to get McGee's attention. "How serious is it?" He listened for a few seconds, then said, "We'll be right there."

Slamming the phone down, Gibbs grabbed his weapon and stood up.

"What's going on, Boss?" McGee asked, pulling his own weapon out of the desk drawer.

"DiNozzo and David were in an accident," Gibbs replied, striding out of the squad room.

McGee hurried to catch up. "Is it serious?" he asked worriedly.

"I don't know yet," replied Gibbs grimly as they entered the elevator, "but Tony's pinned in the car."

McGee was certain they were going to end up in their own wreck as he hung on to the handle of the car. Gibbs wove in and out of traffic, ignoring the blaring horns as he sped toward the accident site. They were about a quarter mile away when traffic became hopelessly gridlocked. Gibbs angrily wrestled with his seat belt, got out of the car and ran ahead, with McGee trailing in his wake.

The scene of the accident was worse than they thought. Several cars were sitting in the road at odd angles with varying degrees of damage. A large flatbed truck was jackknifed, its cargo spilling onto the road. The NCIS sedan was wedged underneath it at an angle, its front end partially crushed, windshield shattered by the truck's cargo. Emergency vehicles were on the scene, with EMTs helping the injured and firemen gathered around the NCIS vehicle.

Gibbs spotted Ziva in the back of an ambulance, arguing with the EMT who was trying to treat her.

"Officer David," he said loudly, "let the man do his job."

The EMT shot Gibbs a grateful look. "How is she?" Gibbs asked.

"She's got some cuts and contusions," replied the young man, "and a possible concussion. She may have internal injuries from the force of the crash against the seat belt. There's some pain when I press on her abdomen, even if she won't admit it."

"I'm fine," Ziva declared through gritted teeth. "I have to get to Tony. He needs someone with him."

"You'll do what the EMT tells you," replied Gibbs firmly. "McGee, make sure she behaves."

"You want _me_ to make sure Ziva behaves?" McGee asked incredulously.

"She's got a concussion, McGee," Gibbs said, "you can take her." He turned away from them. "Maybe," he added as he headed toward the wrecked sedan.

Gibbs felt his chest tighten as he approached the car. Several firemen were standing in a group near the vehicle, talking in hushed tones, their expressions grim. A State Trooper approached Gibbs in an attempt to intercept him.

"I'm his boss," Gibbs said, flashing his badge and ID and indicating the car. "How bad is it?"

"It's pretty bad," replied the cop. "Your guy is pinned in, his legs are trapped, they could be broken or crushed, we can't tell. A piece of rebar went through the windshield and through his shoulder, right into the seat."

"Is he conscious?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah." The cop nodded. "Poor guy's in bad shape, but he keeps joking with everyone."

Gibbs shook his head; it was so like Tony to try to lighten things up. He went to the passenger side of the car and looked in. Tony's eyes were closed, his skin ashen. He was breathing heavily through his nose as a wave of pain washed over him.

"Tony," Gibbs' voice was gentle.

Tony opened his eyes and turned his head. "Hey, Boss," he said, his grin lacking its usual cockiness.

"Here's another fine mess you've gotten yourself into," Gibbs chided.

"Laurel and Hardy," Tony said in surprise. "I didn't know you liked classic comedy."

"There's a lot you don't know, Tony," Gibbs said. His expression softened. "How you holding up?"

"Ah, well, you know," Tony said, waving his hand slightly, "I'm hanging in there, no big deal."

"You've got a half-inch metal bar through your shoulder, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled, "and your legs are somewhere under the mess that used to be the dashboard. That's a big deal."

"Well," Tony said, "I didn't want to sound like a baby."

Gibbs' hand went up, but instead of giving Tony a slap to the head, he ruffled his hair gently. "You've got a free pass, Tony," he said. "You can whine all you want."

"Thanks, Boss. How's Ziva?"

"Giving the EMTs trouble," Gibbs said. Tony chuckled, closing his eyes wearily.

"I'm going to talk to these guys, see what they're doing to get you out of here. I'll be right back." Gibbs squeezed Tony's shoulder reassuringly.

"I'll be here," Tony replied weakly.


	2. Chapter One

Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, they mean a great deal to me. Enjoy Chapter One.

**Chapter One **

_Two Weeks Earlier_

Gibbs and his team were called into a briefing in the Director's office.

"Oh, great," muttered Tony when they entered the room to find Director Jenny Shepard flanked by FBI agents Tobias Fornell and Ron Sacks. "This guy's like a bad penny."

"What does that mean?" asked Ziva.

"It means I can't get away from him."

"Tony, he was only doing his job before," Ziva said. "It's not like he's the one who framed you for murder."

"Yeah, but he really enjoyed doing his job," Tony replied. "You know, he was pretty convinced that you were a spy who killed two of their men and an informant. Why are you sticking up for him?"

Ziva's eyes narrowed. "You're right," she said, "he always seems to bring trouble for us."

Tony nodded. "We better keep an eye on McGee," he whispered. Ziva nodded in agreement.

"What?" McGee looked over at the other two agents curiously.

"Nothing," they said as they took their seats at the conference table.

"I believe you all know Agents Fornell and Sacks," the Director said.

"We've crossed paths a few times," Tony said, grinning cockily at Sacks.

"The FBI is investigating a series of murders of young women," Jenny said. "The latest one is in this area and there may be a link to the Navy, so they've asked for our assistance."

"May be?" Gibbs said, his eyebrow raised.

"The victim was a young college student who was last seen at McMurphy's Bar in Port Royal, Virginia," Fornell said. "It's a popular hangout for folks of the NSWD in Dahlgren, lots of Naval personnel."

"NSWD?" Ziva asked.

"Naval Surface Warfare Division," Tony explained.

Gibbs nodded. "Why's the FBI on this?"

"We know of two other murders with this particular MO," Fornell replied. "We think we're looking at a serial killer."

"The other women who were killed lived within a fifty mile radius of a military base," Agent Sacks explained. "We hadn't picked up on that until this last murder, when we found out the bar's biggest clientele."

"Should have picked up on that sooner," Tony said, "the minute you had a second victim." Sacks glared at him, his jaw clenched.

"It wasn't our case at the time, DiNotzo," Fornell said. "The local officials weren't convinced the murders were related and wouldn't cooperate with us. We got word of this latest murder because one of the cops investigating it actually read a bulletin from us, instead of using the paper to line his birdcage."

"Agent Gibbs," Jenny said, "I want you and your team to cooperate with Agent Fornell and his men. If there's a military connection I want it found."

"We've already had all the information sent over, as well as any forensic evidence," Fornell said.

"We can go out to the bar and question the staff," DiNozzo said, indicating Ziva, McGee and himself. "We might also be able to find some customers who were there when the girl went missing."

"You and Agent Sacks will go to the bar," Fornell corrected. "This is a joint investigation, DiNotzo; that means both our agencies investigate."

"The four of you will go," Gibbs said. "There should be a lot to cover. Fornell and I will go over the files."

"Right, Boss." The four agents filed out of the room, arguing over who was going to be in the back seat.

"Are you sure they won't kill each other?" asked Jenny.

"They might," Gibbs said.

"Want to make a bet on who'll crack first and hit the other guy?" Fornell asked.

oOoOoOo

McMurphy's Bar was a mixture of old-fashioned neighborhood tavern and cheap disco, taking the bad parts of each and crunching them together to form an establishment with dim lighting, loud music and rowdy customers. Dominating the main room was a bar scarred by years of glasses being pounded on it and cigarettes left on its edge to burn down into the dark wood. The air reeked of stale beer and tobacco.

"Well, this is a nice place," Tony said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"I would think you'd feel right at home, DiNozzo," Sacks said, looking around the room.

"Why would you say that?" Tony asked suspiciously.

"I don't know," Sacks replied. "It's kind of cheesy."

"Cheesy?"

"Um, Tony," McGee interrupted, "we better start interviewing witnesses." He checked his PDA. "The bartender's name is Louis Costello, he was working that night."

Tony started to grin. "You're kidding, right?"

"About what?"

"About the name, 'Louis Costello'. Lou Costello – Abbott and Costello? You know, 'Who's on first?'"

"Yes," Sacks said.

Tony looked at him, grinning. "I mean the fellow's name," he said.

"Who."

"The guy on first."

"Who."

"The first baseman."

"Stop!" Ziva said loudly.

"Before my time, Tony," McGee said.

"Yeah, well, it's before my time too, McGee," Tony replied. "It's a classic routine. Slacks and I will take him. You and Ziva question the waitresses."

"I'm surprised you don't want to question the waitresses, Tony," Ziva said.

"Are you kidding? And miss the chance to do the 'who's on first' routine?" Tony and Sacks headed toward the bar.

McGee shook his head. "This doesn't look good for us."

"Yes," Ziva replied, "it appears they have bonded over a dead comedy team."

Ziva and McGee questioned the waitstaff and learned that the bar was quieter than usual on the night of the victim's disappearance. A disaster recovery exercise had been scheduled for the Dahlgren facility and the majority of the bar's clientele were involved, making putting together a list of who was there much easier. Seven of the customers happened to be there that day on a lunch break. Ziva, McGee, Tony and Sacks divided the possible suspects up between them and conducted their interviews.

oOoOoOo

Gibbs and Fornell were going over evidence from the previous cases when the four younger agents returned, arguing over which agency gave their agents the most thorough, well-rounded training and experience, with Ziva threatening to demonstrate some of the training she received at Mossad.

"Report, DiNozzo," Gibbs barked.

"We have a list of twenty-three Dahlgren Lab personnel who were at the bar the evening Emily Groenig was killed," DiNozzo said. "Seven were at the bar for lunch, so we interviewed them. No one jumps out as a suspect yet. We're going to check to see if anyone was stationed in Pensacola during the time of the other two killings."

While Tony was reporting what they found, McGee had gone to his computer and was running down the suspects' past assignments.

"Boss," he called out, "I have something."

"Already?" Tony looked over at the younger agent. "Good work, McGee."

McGee pulled up three ID photos and initial records. "Three men were stationed in Pensacola during the specified time," he said. "Petty Officer Glen Ritter, Staff Sergeant Dennis Friberg and Captain Melvin Gibson – don't say a word, Tony."

"What?" Tony looked affronted.

"Fornell, you and Sacks take Ritter," Gibbs said, "Tony and I will take the Marine, Ziva and McGee can take Braveheart."

Tony flashed McGee a grin as the three teams set out to interview their potential suspects.

oOoOoOo

"Staff Sergeant Friberg?" Gibbs called out, approaching the young Marine. He flashed his badge and ID. "Special Agent Gibbs and Special Agent DiNozzo, NCIS."

"What can I do for you, Sir?" Friberg asked.

"We'd like to ask you some questions, about your whereabouts the other night. Do you know this woman?" Gibbs asked, showing Friberg the picture of Emily Groenig.

The young man examined the picture carefully before saying, "No, Sir, I've never seen her before."

"You were at McMurphy's Bar two nights ago?" Tony asked.

"Yes, Sir," Friberg replied politely.

"She was there that night," Gibbs said. "You didn't see her?"

Friberg shook his head. "No, Sir, "he replied, "I was engaged in conversation with another young lady."

"Does this young lady have a name?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes, Sir, Melanie Halverson," he said. "I'm afraid I don't have her number."

Tony grinned. "Didn't get lucky?"

"Sometimes you end up shooting blanks," Friberg replied, smiling. "I got a kiss and a handshake at the door."

Tony winced. "Ouch."

Gibbs was watching the young Marine closely. "What time did you take Miss Halverson home?"

"Twenty-three hundred, Sir."

"Did you go back to the bar?"

"No, Sir," Friberg shook his head, "I went back to my quarters, about twenty-three thirty."

"The night was still young, Staff Sergeant," Tony said. "Why did you go home?"

"I figured I had wasted enough time and money for that night, no sense in wasting more," he replied.

"Can anyone confirm the time you returned to Base?" Gibbs asked.

"May I ask what this is about, Sir?"

"Emily Groenig was murdered the other night. She was last seen at McMurphy's Bar," Tony replied.

Friberg looked surprised. "I'm sorry to hear that, Sir. She looked pretty young."

"She was," replied Gibbs. "Can anyone back up your story about being back by twenty-three thirty?"

"Yes, Sir, Corporal Thompson was at the desk when I reported back," replied Friberg. "Am I a suspect, Sir?"

"We're questioning everyone who was at the bar that night," Gibbs said. "You're all suspects until we rule you out."

"I understand, Sir," Friberg nodded. "I'm available if you need to ask me anything else."

"Thank you, Staff Sergeant."

On the way back to the car, Tony asked, "Why did you let him call you sir?"

"He knows something," was Gibbs' reply.

"He seemed pretty honest," Tony said, looking unconvinced. "He could be the poster boy for the Marines."

"Yeah, but he's hiding something."

oOoOoOo

When Gibbs and Tony got back to NCIS they found McGee and Ziva had already returned.

"McGee, pull up everything you can find on Staff Sergeant Dennis Friberg."

"Don't you want to know how our interview went?" asked Ziva.

"Yes, Officer David," Gibbs replied with exaggerated politeness, "I was thinking you could debrief me while McGee pulls Friberg's records. Or did you need to report to me in unison?"

"Melvin Gibson was in the emergency room from nine-thirty to three a.m. with a case of food poisoning," Ziva said. "He's not our killer."

"Ya think? McGee! Where's my info?"

"Here, Boss," McGee pulled up Friberg's service record, "Staff Sergeant Dennis Friberg – joined the Marines when he was nineteen; first in his graduating class; expert marksman, hand-to-hand combat instructor; one tour in Afghanistan and one in Iraq. He's part of the security detail at Dahlgren Laboratory."

"Like I said, Boss," Tony said. "He's a model Marine."

"There's something behind that spit-and-polish," Gibbs said, looking at the picture of the Staff Sergeant on the plasma. "Bring him in for an interview. Take Ziva with you."

The two agents grabbed their packs and headed out.

"Are you going to let me drive today, Tony?" Ziva asked, smiling beguilingly at Tony.

"I'm feeling lucky today," he said, grinning down at the Mossad agent.

"I'm an excellent driver," Ziva retorted causing Tony to snort in amusement.

"Whatever you say, Rainman."


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

_Present Day_

McGee stood at the back of the ambulance, watching as the EMT applied a bandage to a cut on Ziva's head. The Mossad agent squirmed impatiently, anxious to get to her injured partner.

"What happened?" McGee asked.

"I'm not sure," she said. "One minute we were driving along and the next we were under a truck and the airbags were smothering us."

"How fast were you going?"

"I was driving the speed limit." Seeing McGee's skeptical look she admitted, "Okay, I was a little over the speed limit, but it was not my fault."

McGee nodded. "Okay."

"It wasn't!" she insisted. "It all happened so quickly, McGee. The driver hit his brakes suddenly, I swerved to avoid the truck but he swerved in the same direction."

"I'm not saying it's your fault," McGee said.

"But you believe it is, because you think I drive like a crazy woman."

"You drive like a Nascar driver on speed," he replied, "but I believe you when you say it wasn't your fault."

"No, you don't," she said sullenly. "Gibbs probably thinks it's my fault too."

"We don't know that," McGee said comfortingly.

The young EMT interrupted the two. "You'll need to go to the hospital to get checked out, Officer David."

"I'm not going anywhere until my partner is out of that car," she replied stubbornly. "I need to go make sure he's not alone in there."

The young man looked over at McGee. "Would you please talk to her?"

"Ziva, wait here," McGee said, "I'll go talk to Gibbs."

"I'll go with you." She stood up, swaying dangerously. The EMT gently sat her down.

Exasperated, McGee said, "Ziva, you should go to the hospital. We'll let you know what's happening with Tony, I promise."

"Call me on my cell," she replied threateningly.

"They won't let you keep your cell phone in the ER," the young EMT said.

"Believe me," McGee replied, "they won't try to take it from her."

Ziva finally lay down on the gurney, allowing herself to be covered with a blanket. "Call me," she called out before the door to the ambulance closed and the vehicle drove off.

oOoOoOo

McGee met Gibbs as the senior agent was going to talk to the emergency crew.

"How's Tony, Boss?" he asked anxiously.

"He's in a lot of pain," was the reply. "Go talk to him, keep him occupied."

"Right, Boss."

McGee approached the car cautiously, afraid of what he would find.

"Hey, Tony," he said softly.

Tony's eyes were half closed. "Hey, McGee," he said weakly.

"You know, this is taking 'becoming one with the car' a little too far."

Tony chuckled. "Funny, McGee," he whispered. "Don't quit your day job."

McGee shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat, and said, "Is there anything I can do? Do you want water or something? Should you even be drinking water?"

"Relax, McGee."

"I'm sorry."

"I know. It's okay, you don't even have to say anything," Tony said. "It's enough to know someone's here." He stiffened as another wave of pain started building.

"Here," McGee said. "Grab my hand… breathe deeply… that's it, that's good… just breathe… ow… let go of my hand…. Tony, let go of my hand… let go of my…here, take my arm."

"You sound like you're trying to deliver a baby," Gibbs said from behind McGee.

"Well, it's the same principle," McGee said defensively. "You know, pain management."

"Yeah," Gibbs said. "Tony, they're going to cut you out of the car. You hold tight."

"Okay, Boss."

Gibbs and McGee were ordered to move out of the way as the rescue workers began working to extract Tony from the wreckage. A heavy tarp was laid over the trapped man, protecting him from getting hit by flying sparks as they cut through the metal frame of the car. Each bump and jolt sent bolts of pain through Tony's body and it became harder for him to keep silent.

The team leader came over to Gibbs. "This is getting pretty hairy for your guy," Chief Patrick Clanahan said to the senior agent. "I think it would help him if one of you got in the back seat and talked him through this."

Gibbs climbed into the back of the car and held the tarp away from Tony's face. The younger man was sweating profusely and shivering, dangerously close to going into shock.

"Okay, Tony," Gibbs said, "I want you to concentrate on my voice. Can you do that?"

Tony nodded. "I can do that, Boss," he said, his voice cracking.

"You're going to make it through this," Gibbs said. "Just breathe. Go somewhere else in your head, push everything aside and just listen to my voice."

"Oh, God," Tony moaned.

"Come on, Tony," Gibbs said encouragingly. "You can do this, I know you can."

Gibbs continued to speak to Tony in a low, steady voice as the rescue workers cut through the metal. When they braced the trapped agent's body to cut the rebar, the pain was too much and Tony lost consciousness. Once he was free of the wreckage, they quickly immobilized his legs and spine and placed him on a gurney. Gibbs climbed into the back of the ambulance while McGee went to get the car from where they had abandoned it.

oOoOoOo

The team sat in the waiting room while Tony was undergoing surgery. Abby was pacing around, nervously chewing on her nails while McGee tried to calm her down. Gibbs sat unnaturally still, Ducky beside him providing silent support. The nurse had informed them that Ziva had suffered a minor concussion and had some deep bruising on her chest and abdomen, but that she was otherwise okay. They wanted to keep her overnight for observation, but the Mossad agent would have none of that and signed herself out. She dozed on a sofa in the waiting room, while the others took turns waking her periodically to make sure she was okay.

Gibbs rose as a doctor entered the room. "How is he?" he asked anxiously.

"Agent DiNozzo is one very lucky man," Doctor Murray said. "The rebar barely missed his aorta. In fact, it didn't pass through any major organs or blood vessels at all. He has some muscle damage, but with physical therapy he should regain full use of his arm in a couple of months."

"And his legs?" Gibbs prompted.

"Again, luck was with him. Both his legs were broken, but they were clean breaks. A couple of pins in each leg should do the trick. He'll be in casts for at least six weeks, then it's a matter of more physical therapy to get him back on his feet. Barring any complications he'll be able to return to work in four to six months."

"Will he suffer any aftereffects of the accident?" Ziva asked.

"He'll probably feel the cold weather a little more than he did, and there may be some psychological scarring from the accident. I understand it was very intense."

Gibbs nodded. "It was rough, he'll probably have nightmares of being trapped."

"You may want to watch out for signs of PTSD," Doctor Murray advised.

"Thank you, Doctor," Gibbs shook the older man's hand. "May we see him?"

"Of course," the doctor said. "But not all of you. The nurse will show you to his room."

Gibbs and the two female team members followed the young nurse to Tony's room. The agent lay sleeping, his legs propped up, his arm bandaged and secured against his chest. His face was very pale, with dark circles under his eyes and his lips still slightly blue from the anesthesia.

Ziva stroked his hair. "Poor Tony," she said softly, "I'm not sure what kind of luck you have."

"He's alive," Gibbs said, "and he's going to be okay. That's good enough for me." He cleared his throat. "We have work to do, let him sleep."

"Someone should be here when he wakes up," Abby protested.

Gibbs smiled at her. "You can stay for now, call me when he wakes up."

"Thanks, Bossman," Abby said, pulling a chair up to Tony's bedside and sitting down, taking his hand in hers.


	4. Chapter Three

A/N: The Anthony DiNozzo Sr in this story is from the universe my story Prodigal Son was written. In that story, Tony's father isn't a monster, but an emotionally distant man who didn't know how to deal with his son.

**Chapter Three**

The next day, the team was back at the hospital. Gibbs was in the hallway, finishing up a phone call.

"Special Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs looked up to see Anthony DiNozzo, Sr. standing there, looking less composed and tailored than he had at their last meeting.

"Mr. DiNozzo," Gibbs said, rising out of his seat.

"It's Anthony, remember?" DiNozzo Sr. said, shaking Gibbs' hand firmly.

"Right," Gibbs said, nodding, "and it's Jethro."

"How's my son, Jethro?"

"He's tough," Gibbs replied, smiling slightly, "and damn lucky. If the rebar had been an inch to the right it would have gone right through his heart. Both his legs were broken, but they were clean breaks; the doctors don't anticipate any permanent effects. With some intense physical therapy he should be back to normal in a few months."

DiNozzo Sr. sighed in relief. "When I got the call I thought you might be holding something back. I needed to see Anthony and talk to you, face-to-face."

"I wouldn't keep anything from you, not about your son," Gibbs said.

"I know; I just thought you might be saving the bad news to tell me in person," DiNozzo Sr. said, waving a hand. "Where is he?"

"His room is down here." Gibbs led him to his son's room. Abby, Ziva and McGee were there, trying to cheer up Tony, who was having difficulty keeping up with the conversation.

"Anthony," DiNozzo Sr. said, going to the bedside, "how are you feeling, son?" His concerned gaze swept over his son, taking in the tubes and wires hooked up to the younger man.

"Dad," Tony said, slurring slightly, "what are you doing here?"

"You were seriously injured, Anthony," DiNozzo Sr. said sternly. "Did you think I'd just ask to be updated on your condition and leave it at that?"

"No, sir," Tony said, chastised. "I'm sorry."

His father smiled. "That's okay, son. Your being hurt so soon after we lost your grandmother makes me think that someone is trying to tell me to spend more time with you. But you didn't answer my question, how are you feeling?"

"Right now, I feel kind of numb," Tony said, his dilated pupils proof of his drugged state. "And woozy. I have no idea what these guys have been talking about for the last ten minutes, but I think it had something to do with fuzzy bears and purple toads."

"Ziva was talking about terrorist lairs and then McGee and I started talking about network nodes and tracking communications," Abby corrected, smiling as she patted Tony's hand comfortingly. She stuck out her free hand to the elder DiNozzo. "Hi, I'm Abby Sciuto," she said with a dazzling smile. "It's so good to finally get to meet you, Mr. DiNozzo. Tony's such a great guy, you must be proud of him. I can see where he gets his good looks."

"You've already met Special Agent McGee and Officer David," Gibbs said, indicating the two other people.

"Yes, it's good to see you again," Anthony said, and smiled at Abby. "I've heard a great deal about you, Miss Sciuto; it's a pleasure to finally get to meet the remarkable young woman my son talks about."

"I can see where Tony gets his charm too," Abby said, grinning as she looked at the two DiNozzos.

"I'd like to talk to your doctors," DiNozzo Sr. said. "I'd like to know what course of treatment they're planning for you. I imagine you'll need to stay in the hospital for a while, then maybe a private facility."

Gibbs said, "Doctor Mallard talked to his doctors. You're right, they'll keep Tony here until he's strong enough to be moved to a rehabilitation facility nearby."

DiNozzo Sr. shook his head. "That's unacceptable," he said. "Anthony, when you're strong enough I'm going to have you moved to a center in New York, near me. I'll have my private physicians put on your case, you'll get the best possible care."

"New York?" Abby said in dismay, clutching Tony's hand more tightly. "You'll take him away?"

"I don't think I want to go to New York, Dad," Tony said, struggling to keep his eyes open. "I think it'll be best if I stay around here. We're in the middle of a case and…"

"You can't possibly believe you're going to work while you recuperate," his father said in amazement.

"Well, I can't actually go out in the field," Tony said stubbornly, his eyelids drooping.

"Tony will put all his energy and concentration into his physical therapy," Gibbs said firmly. "Visitors will _not_ discuss any cases with him."

"If you take him to New York, we won't be able to visit him," Abby said sadly. "At least not as often as we could if he were here."

"Tony deserves the best care possible, Abs," Gibbs said, pulling Abby to him and looking into her eyes. "You believe that, don't you? He'll have family in New York."

"Tony's got great doctors here," she said, looking down at Tony with tears in her eyes. She reached out and stroked his hair. "And we're family."

Tony stirred, having fallen asleep. He looked up at Abby. "Hey, don't cry, Abs. The doc said I was going to be okay, remember?" he said, taking her hand and patting it clumsily. He lost his struggle to keep his eyes open and drifted off again.

Tony's father watched the senior agent comfort the young woman then looked at the other two agents.

Clearing his throat, he said, "I can see that my son means a great deal to all of you, and that you're all very important to him. I suppose it would be easier for me to make trips to DC than for all of you to travel to New York to visit him."

Abby squealed, and Mr. DiNozzo continued, firmly, "However, I insist that my orthopedic surgeon consult in his treatment, and I want regular updates on his condition."

Abby ran around the bed and hugged Anthony. "Thank you, Mr. DiNozzo," she said. "We'll make sure he's happy and keeps up with his therapy."

oOoOoOo

Tony was transferred to the Renaissance Convalescent Center after spending six days in the hospital. The team members tried to make regular visits to keep his spirits up, but the case kept them busy and he was getting depressed and restless. The physical therapy was draining and painful. He was frustrated that he couldn't exercise his legs; the lightweight casts still encased the lower portion of his legs, past the knees.

One rare afternoon, Abby found herself with time on her hands. She decided to surprise Tony by decorating his room to make him feel more at home. She enlisted Ziva's help, who picked the lock on Tony's apartment door. The two of them went through the place, picking items they thought would make Tony feel as if he was in his apartment. While Tony was down in therapy the two quickly decorated his room. They replaced the bland blue blanket on his bed with the afghan he had thrown at the foot of his bed. They put up old movie posters and set up a TV/DVD player on the counter. They had chosen a wide selection of Tony's DVDs and CDs, with plans to bring whatever else he wanted from the apartment.

"Surprise!" Abby yelled, when Tony was wheeled in from his therapy. The look on his face was priceless. It was a combination of shock and delight. He wheeled over to the bed and ran his hand over the afghan, his eyes misting over.

"Wow," he said, softly.

"Do you like it?" Abby asked, bouncing in excitement.

Tony looked up at the two women, his eyes bright. "I love it," he said, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat. "I don't know what to say," he said.

Ziva ruffled his hair playfully. "You don't have to say anything, Tony," she said. "The look on your face says it all."

"We wanted to make you feel more comfortable," Abby explained. "You've got to be here for a while, you might as well make yourself at home."

"You guys are the best," he said, grinning up at the two. "This is fantastic."

"We love you too, Tony," Abby said, hugging the agent fiercely.


	5. Chapter Four

A/N: I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies in the rehabilitation/physical therapy scene. I was unable to do the proper research that I usually do. Corrections, if any are needed and suggested, will be made before this story is posted on my website upon its completion. And now, back to our story...

**Chapter Four**

A month passed by and they had made no progress in the case, making the squad room a very uncomfortable place to be. Gibbs was barking orders and making seemingly impossible demands. Even though he was certain their target was the Staff Sergeant, the Director insisted they investigate the third suspect, Petty Officer Ritter. While McGee researched his background and whereabouts during the times of the murders, the FBI took over surveillance on Staff Sergeant Friberg. As they suspected, Ritter turned up clean, with a foolproof alibi for at least one murder.

Gibbs was in MTAC briefing the Director on what little they had on the case. No one wanted to be in the room during that discussion. Abby and Ducky were in the squad room.

"Gibbs sure has a bee in his bonnet, doesn't he?" Ziva observed. "Or is that wasp?"

"You were correct the first time, my dear," Ducky said. "Yes, our esteemed leader seems to be getting more and more unreasonable."

"He needs Tony to be here," Abby said, matter-of-factly.

"McGee and I are perfectly capable of investigating this crime," Ziva protested. "Tony is good, yes, but he's not perfect."

"Abby's right," McGee said. "Tony brings something to this team that none of us can."

"You mean being class clown?" Ziva replied.

McGee shook his head. "No, he always seems to come up with the answers Gibbs is looking for," he said. "He makes it look as if he's goofing off, then when Gibbs is about to smack him, he has the right answers."

"And he grins at Gibbs," Ziva added, understanding what McGee was saying, "as if to dare him to hit him."

"Tony is an excellent agent," Ducky said. "As I told him some time ago, he's a lot like Gibbs was ten years ago."

"Really?" Abby said. "I would have liked to have seen that."

Ducky nodded. "Yes, he was much looser, if you will; more fun-loving. He's become a bit more relaxed since the explosion, but he's not the same as he was then."

"Tony brings a light-heartedness to this group," Ducky continued. "Something that I think is sorely needed in our line of work. And he's been with Gibbs the longest, except for me; he knows what he needs before Gibbs can say it."

"You make them sound like an old married couple," Ziva said, smiling.

Ducky chuckled. "More like old partners," he replied.

"Was there a meeting called that I'm unaware of?" Gibbs yelled as he came down the stairs.

"I believe I have something down in autopsy that requires my attention," Ducky said, turning to leave.

"What?" McGee asked. "We don't have any bodies to process, do we?"

"I'll find one," Ducky called over his shoulder.

"Abby," Gibbs said, "did you find any DNA on the evidence from any of the murders?"

"No, Gibbs," she replied. "I went through everything with a fine-toothed comb and…I'll go look again," she finished as Gibbs glared at her. He turned to the two remaining agents who scrambled back to their desks muttering something about bank records and phone calls.

"I'm going for coffee," he said, marching out of the squad room angrily.

Gibbs had meant to go for coffee but instead found himself driving to the rehabilitation center. He stood out of sight, watching his senior field agent going through therapy. The young man was in obvious pain, his sweatshirt soaked with sweat, his face red and dripping. Tony stubbornly worked his shoulder and arm, stretching and contracting the muscles slowly and carefully under the careful eye of his physical therapist.

Gibbs felt a sense of pride at the determined set of the younger man's jaw, the fierce look in his eyes as he went through the repetitive motions. He knew that Tony was dying to get back to work, and knew that he would do anything it took to advance his recovery. Gibbs made sure to let the doctors and therapists know that the younger agent was prone to overdo things in his eagerness to return to the team, and the therapists kept him from doing himself more damage.

Gibbs shook his head. He wasn't sure how he had come to depend on his senior field agent so much, but not having him there during a particularly difficult case made him realize just how much Tony meant to the team. He knew that the others missed his joking and inane conversations; Gibbs missed those, too, but he'd never admit that out loud. Most of all, Gibbs missed having someone there who was as observant and intuitive as Tony was in an investigation. McGee was improving, gaining more confidence and beginning to see connections between things; Ziva was very observant, she had to be in her former line of work, but her perspective was different than what was needed in investigating crimes. She was learning quickly, though.

Tony brought with him years of working as a cop on the street and an easy attitude that made people like him, whether they were suspects or witnesses. In his own way, Tony was as good at interrogation as Gibbs, something that Gibbs had come to appreciate over the years.

Gibbs watched silently as the therapist moved on to exercising Tony's legs. He still couldn't stand and had difficulty moving them, so the therapist stretched and flexed them slowly as Tony sat silently, grimacing in pain. He never complained, which would surprise those who had been around when Tony smashed his finger in the drawer one day. He could be quite a drama queen when he wanted attention, but when matters became serious he was all business.

Gibbs went back to his car. He decided against talking to Tony, knowing that the younger agent wouldn't be happy to know that Gibbs had seen him in such a vulnerable state. But the senior agent felt calmer on the drive back to headquarters, knowing that he would have his right hand man back on the team soon.

oOoOoOo

Staff Sergeant Friberg waited in the interrogation room, sitting straight in his chair, his demeanor calm. His eyes never wavered as he met Gibbs' intense, appraising gaze.

"You've been at Dahlgren for six months," Gibbs said.

"Yes, Sir."

Gibbs appeared to soften a bit. "Don't call me sir," he said. "It's either Special Agent or Gunny."

Friberg relaxed slightly and smiled at the older man. "I knew you were a Marine," he said.

"You can take the man out of the Marines, but you can't take the Marine out of the man."

The young man nodded. "It gets in your blood."

Gibbs chuckled. "Yeah, it sure does," he said, sitting back in his chair. "You've got quite a record," he said, indicating the files on the table. "Bronze Star, Marine Corps Expeditionary Medal, Combat Action Ribbon - pretty impressive."

Friberg smiled proudly. "Thank you, Sir - I mean Gunny."

"You joined the Corps when you were nineteen." Gibbs looked up from the file he was reading. "Did you go to college the year between high school and joining up, or did you do some traveling?"

"I spent six months hitchhiking through Europe," Friberg replied. "Getting to know the lay of the land and the locals, if you know what I mean."

Gibbs laughed. "Oh, I know what you mean," he said. "Get a lot of experience?"

"I did okay," Friberg said, grinning.

"I'm sure you did," Gibbs said, nodding. "Why did you decide to join the Marines, Staff Sergeant?"

"I wanted to serve my country," Friberg replied, "and I thought the best way to do that was through the military. The Marines looked like the service for me."

"You're a good looking guy, I imagine you do okay with the ladies," Gibbs said thoughtfully. "Why wouldn't you sign up for the more glamorous services, become a flyboy for the Air Force or Navy?"

Friberg shook his head, "I'm a simple man, Gunny. I don't need to impress anyone. I like to be able to see the enemy's eyes, smell their fear."

Gibbs nodded. "Is that why you teach hand-to-hand combat? You like the contact, the one-on-one, personal nature of the fight?"

"There's no honor in dropping a bomb on faceless people," Friberg said. "Overcoming your opponent when you're evenly matched, that's where the courage and honor come from."

"You can't watch your enemy die from the cockpit," Gibbs observed calmly. "You can't see the see the fear in their eyes, smell it pouring out of them, watch the life drain from them."

"It's more personal," Friberg said, sitting back. "Riskier, which makes it more… I don't know." He paused.

"Satisfying?" Gibbs asked.

"Killing someone isn't pleasant," Friberg replied, a small smile forming. "It's usually a sin, unless you're killing someone in self-defense, like an enemy soldier or an insurgent."

"Right," Gibbs said, nodding. "'Thou shalt not kill.' Are you a religious man, Staff Sergeant?"

"My parents were very religious." Friberg's expression turned colder. "We went to church every Sunday, said our prayers at meals and bed time, did volunteer work for the church."

"That's not what I asked, Staff Sergeant," Gibbs replied, "I asked if _you_ were a religious man."

"Not very," was the reply. "I've seen too much in combat to really believe in a 'loving God'."

"Most men discover religion in the foxhole," Gibbs said.

"Not me."

"Not you," Gibbs repeated, thoughtfully. "You're thirty-three, now, and you're still single. Do you have any plans to get married, have a family?"

Friberg smiled. "I like my life the way it is now," he replied. "I enjoy being in the Marines, and I get my pleasure when I want it, with no strings attached."

Gibbs laughed softly. "You don't want a 'ball and chain' tying you down, do you?"

"No, Sir," Friberg replied. "I've seen how having a family can kill a man's dreams, make them die inside, slowly, until there's nothing left of them but an empty husk."

"Really?" Gibbs said, looking interested. "Where have you seen that? Your father?"

Friberg sat very still, his face guarded. "My father wasn't a happy man. He was a good husband and a good father, but he wasn't happy."

Gibbs nodded in understanding. "Trapped in a loveless marriage?"

"My father loved my mother and he loved his kids," Friberg replied coldly. "My mother took good care of us, she did everything she could to make his life comfortable and safe. He just couldn't be happy."

"Did he kill himself? Run off?" Gibbs asked.

"He had a heart attack," Friberg replied. "When I was seventeen."

"Ahh, sorry," Gibbs said.

"May I ask what any of this has to do with my being here?" Friberg asked.

"I just wanted to get to know you, Staff Sergeant," Gibbs replied. "Understand what makes you tick."

"Am I still a suspect in that girl's death?" Friberg asked.

"Your alibi checks out," Gibbs said. "I'm just not sure I believe it, though."

Friberg smiled. "I'm sorry to hear that, Gunny. I don't know why you'd think I'd murder that poor girl, but I can assure you, I didn't."

Gibbs leaned across the table. "Oh, I'm pretty sure you did. I don't know how you managed it. Yet. But I will."

"Well, Sir," Friberg said smoothly, "I wish you luck with finding the killer." He paused then smiled at Gibbs, his gaze cold and calculating as he stared into the agent's eyes.


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

McGee stuck his head into Tony's room to find the other agent sitting in a wheelchair, picking forlornly at some eggs on a wheeled tray in front of him.

"Hey, Tony, " he said, entering the room, "I brought you a breakfast burrito."

A grin lit up Tony's face. "Probie!" he said happily, "you're a life saver!" He accepted the burrito eagerly, closing his eyes and sniffing. "Manna from heaven," he said reverently.

McGee unwrapped his own breakfast and sat down to eat with Tony.

"When's your PT?" he asked.

"In about an hour," Tony replied between bites. "They'll come get me and wheel me down to the torture chamber where I'll be stretched and prodded and made completely miserable."

"But you're getting stronger, right?"

Tony nodded. "Things are going smoothly, not as fast as I'd like, but I'm regaining movement and strength in my arm."

"What about your legs?"

"That's where the 'not as fast as I'd like' part comes in," Tony replied. "I can't support myself well enough with just my right arm to do any walking, so we're doing stretching and flexing exercises in the meantime. I lost muscle tone while I had those damn casts on."

"It's only been a few weeks, Tony," McGee said sympathetically. "I know it feels like forever. Believe me, your presence is sorely missed. Gibbs has gone back to his pre-coma personality. I never realized how much we depend on your sense of humor."

"Aw, you miss me, Probie?" Tony said, grinning.

"Sure," McGee replied, "you take most of the heat from Gibbs."

"The case is getting to him." Tony nodded knowingly.

"It's getting to all of us. It's frustrating – we know Friberg's guilty, we just can't prove it."

Tony picked up his coffee mug and sat back. "What have you gotten since I was impaled?"

"I'm not supposed to discuss the case with you, Tony; Gibbs'll kill me," McGee protested.

"Oh, come on, McGee, I won't tell him. I'm dying of boredom here, let me help," Tony pleaded.

"Well, maybe you'll see something we can't, you've been away from it for a while," McGee said thoughtfully.

"That's right," Tony agreed, "a pair of fresh eyes."

McGee hesitated then dove right in. "Okay, we believe Friberg's responsible for more than the three recent murders the FBI have. We've done some digging and come up with two more unsolved murders with similar MO's. Those were committed two years ago, in areas near where Friberg was stationed. Just like the ones we already have, no one saw a connection between the murders, so they were handled by local LEOs as isolated cases. The victims were all young women, but that's their only similarity; they had different jobs, different economic status. One victim was a nurse, another a housewife, and one was a secretary, but she was also hooking on the side."

Tony shook his head. "No one pays their administrative help enough."

"We only have circumstantial evidence," McGee continued. "We can't positively link Friberg to any of the cases, and he knows it."

"Did Gibbs interrogate him?"

McGee nodded. "Yeah, but the guy's as tough as he is. It's turning into a contest of wills."

"Gibbs is tougher," Tony said confidently, "and smarter. He just needs that one piece of information that'll trip Friberg up."

"Yeah, but what is it?"

"That's what you've got to find, Probie," Tony said. "You have to think outside the box, try to get into Friberg's head."

"That's what Ducky does," McGee argued.

Tony shook his head. "We all do it; all good investigators should be able to anticipate the next step the perp will take based on what we know about him. Gibbs can't do all the thinking on this. Well, he can, but you should be helping him, you should be another pair of eyes and ears, another brain, not just a lackey who does what he tells you to do. Were there any other unsolved murders in the areas he lived before he was in the Marines?"

"No murders of young women using the same MO prior to the last two victims we uncovered," McGee replied.

"What about teenage girls?" Tony asked. "Maybe he started killing a long time ago and picked female victims close to his own age."

"I never thought of that," McGee said, looking thoughtful.

"And maybe he made a mistake on one of his early kills that you can catch him on," Tony said.

"Wow, Tony, I'm impressed," McGee said, "I guess we really do need you."

"I haven't been as involved in the case as you guys have," Tony said. "I'm looking at it from a different perspective."

McGee shook his head. "Something tells me you would have come up with that anyway." He stood up to leave. "I better go, Gibbs'll be looking for me."

McGee paused, then asked, "Tony, was the accident Ziva's fault?"

Tony shook his head, "No," he said, "Even though her past history would make it seem the likely cause. The truck in front of us slammed its brakes on suddenly, she did the best she could to avoid it. The results would have been the same if I were driving, except Ziva might be dead, she's smaller than I am."

McGee nodded, "She said the accident wasn't her fault, and I believed her. It's just that..."

"You've experienced her driving," Tony finished. "Yeah, I'd think the same thing if I weren't there. I managed to get hold of the police reports. Some guy in front of truck was trying to make a call on his cell phone and lost control of his car. That set up the whole chain reaction. You might want to let Ziva know that you know what happened."

"I will."

"Thanks for breakfast, Probie," Tony said.

"Thanks for the advice, Tony," McGee said sincerely. "I'll get right on it. Good luck with PT."

"Tell everyone I need visitors before I go stir crazy," Tony called out as McGee went down the hall.

"Will do."

oOoOoOo

No one was in the squad room when McGee arrived at work. He found Ziva down in Abby's lab.

"Where's Gibbs?"

"He and Fornell are meeting with the Director in her office," replied Ziva. "Where have you been?"

"I brought Tony some breakfast."

Abby grinned. "Something greasy?"

McGee nodded. "He was practically swooning."

"How's he doing?" asked Ziva.

"He looks good," McGee replied. "Well, better at least. He says his arm's getting stronger but he hasn't been able to do as much as he'd like to get his legs in shape."

Abby chuckled. "That's our Tony, he's like an impatient little kid. He was almost killed six weeks ago and he wants to be up and running around already. Remember when he had the plague?" she said. "He was back a week early, even after Gibbs told him to take the extra time. Lucky for us he didn't, or you and Kate would have been blown up. He gave Kate an extra day..." She paused, looking over at Ziva uncomfortably. "Sorry, Ziva," she said apologetically.

"Don't apologize," Ziva said. "You lost a good friend, I understand."

McGee broke the awkward silence. "Um, Ziva, Tony found out that the driver in front of the truck caused the accident."

Ziva looked surprised, "How did he find out, he's supposed to be concentrating on getting well?"

McGee looked puzzled, "You know, I have no idea. He said he got the police reports, but he didn't say how. I just wanted to say that I really did believe it wasn't your fault, and there's definite proof of that now. I bet Gibbs already knows that."

"Thank you, McGee," Ziva said, patting McGee's cheek.

McGee cleared his throat, "Anyway, I have an angle we can investigate – maybe we'll get lucky."

oOoOoOo

Gibbs and Fornell walked into the lab to find the remaining NCIS agents crowded around a computer screen with Abby.

"There had better be a good reason why my team is looking at old newspaper articles," he growled.

"Gibbs!" exclaimed Abby. "McGee had this great idea about looking for unsolved murders in the areas where Friberg lived as a child and we came up with six possible hits going back as far as twenty years."

"That would make him thirteen years old," Fornell said. "You think he started that early?"

McGee nodded. "It looks like it. Twenty years ago a classmate of his disappeared. Her body was discovered two weeks later in a gully outside of town. She was strangled the same way the other victims were."

"Five murders occurred either near where his family lived or where they vacationed," Ziva reported. "The other five girls were murdered the same way and were close in age to Friberg at the time of their deaths."

"We're sending for forensics evidence from as many cases as we can get, Boss," McGee said. "We're hoping he wasn't as good at hiding his tracks back then."

"That's good work, Tim. We might just catch a break," Gibbs said approvingly.

McGee blushed. "Um, actually, it wasn't me, Boss," he said, embarrassed. "Tony suggested we dig further and check Friberg's old haunts."

Gibbs glared at McGee. "You discussed the case with Tony?"

"I know you said not to," McGee said apologetically, "but he was bored and desperate for information. He's hard to say no to, sometimes."

"I say 'no' all the time," Ziva said, smiling.

"Does he really ask?" Abby said, arching an eyebrow. "Or is he just doing his usual flirting?"

"Flirting can be the same as asking," Ziva replied.

"Not with Tony," Abby shook her head. "He'll flirt with everything in a skirt, but he doesn't sleep with everyone he flirts with."

"What about kilts?" McGee asked.

"What?" Ziva looked at him, confused.

"A kilt is a skirt," McGee said reasonably, "but it's worn by men. Abby said Tony flirts with anything in a skirt, does that include men?"

"Tony's never shown a predilection for his own gender," Abby said thoughtfully, "but he can get pretty crazy..."

"Enough," Gibbs roared, causing the three agents to jump. "Just keep working on those earlier cases. You," he pointed at McGee, "stop distracting Tony from his physical therapy."

"Yes, Boss," McGee said contritely.

Gibbs and Fornell left the lab. "Do they always go off on tangents like that?" asked Fornell.

"That was nothing," Gibbs said as they entered the elevator. "You should hear Abby when she's had a few more Caf-Pows."

"That was smart thinking on DiNotzo's part," Fornell said, his voice showing his respect.

"He's one of the best," Gibbs said. "We could really use him on this case."

"But you told your people not to discuss the case with him."

Gibbs nodded. "He needs to concentrate on getting back on his feet," he said. "He's got a habit of ignoring his health during a case."

"Sounds like he takes a page from your book," Fornell observed wryly.

Gibbs chuckled. "He'd do that anyway. I need him back at work, fully recovered, as soon as possible."

"You trust him," Fornell stated.

"With my life," Gibbs confirmed.

"He'd walk through fire for you, Jethro," Fornell said. "It must be nice to have someone like that at your back."

"Yeah, he's a good man to have on your side," Gibbs agreed. "What about Sacks?"

Fornell snorted. "He's good, but he's not really 'my guy,' not like your agents are 'your people'. You've got a good team, Jethro, you're lucky."

"Luck has nothing to do with it," Gibbs replied. "The people on my team are there because they're the best. A lot of people have worked for me, but if they're not good at what they do, they don't last long. It's taken me awhile to assemble this team."

"What about David?" Fornell asked. "She was forced onto you."

"She's worked out," Gibbs said.

"That was luck," Fornell observed.

Gibbs laughed. "Okay, _that_ was luck, but she's earned her place on the team. She's becoming a good investigator and she's excellent in a firefight. She keeps DiNozzo on his toes."

Fornell laughed. "Do you have a fraternization problem?"

"Nah," Gibbs said. "They're too much alike. They learn from each other, in between the teasing and flirting. There's some healthy competition there, it's good for both of them."

The two had arrived back at the squad room to find Agent Sacks waiting for them. Sacks and another agent had been assigned to follow Staff Sergeant Friberg around.

"What's going on with Friberg?" Fornell asked.

"The guy's an arrogant S.O.B," Sacks replied. "He goes to McMurphy's every chance he gets, flirts with every waitress and young customer he can, and sends the agents watching him beers."

"Why is he seeing the agents watching him?" Gibbs asked.

"I don't know," Sacks replied. "He just seems to spot them, but if he doesn't spot them, he still keeps doing what he's doing."

"Keep up the pressure," Fornell said. "He'll make a mistake sooner or later."

"Just try to keep out of sight," Gibbs added.

As Sacks left the squad room, Gibbs turned to Fornell and said, "If Tony weren't laid up, and hadn't been with me when we first questioned Friberg, I'd have him on surveillance and I guarantee you he'd never be spotted."


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

Gibbs heard laughter as he approached Tony's room. He walked in to find Abby, McGee and Ziva sitting around talking, empty pizza boxes lying around, the television on with the sound muted, and Tony, lying in bed, looking very tired.

"All right," Gibbs said loudly, "everyone go home."

"But Gibbs," Abby protested, "visiting hours aren't over yet."

"They are for you," Gibbs said firmly. "Tony looks like he's about to drop."

Abby looked appalled. "Oh, Tony, I'm so sorry," she said, going to the bed to give him a hug. "We should have noticed you were tired."

"That's okay, Abs," Tony said. "I like having you guys around."

"Yeah, sorry, Tony," McGee said apologetically. "We'll get out of your way."

Ziva patted Tony's head. "We'll see you later." The three gathered up the trash they had scattered and left.

Gibbs settled into a chair and looked over at his senior field agent. "You look like hell, DiNozzo," he said matter-of-factly. "How do you feel?"

"Like hell," Tony said, his head falling back against his pillow. "Thanks for clearing the room. I hate asking people to leave."

"You're afraid they won't come back," Gibbs said.

Tony laughed. "Yeah, I guess so."

"I won't stay long," Gibbs said. "Just wanted to check up on you, see how the PT is going."

"Oh, it's going," Tony said. "I can actually walk around on crutches for ten minutes without falling over."

"That's good," Gibbs said approvingly. "You're making progress."

"I suppose," Tony said sullenly.

"It's going to take time, you know that," Gibbs said. "Just keep your mind on the exercises and stop badgering McGee for details on the case."

"I didn't badger him," Tony said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "He's easy to break."

Gibbs chuckled. "Yeah, we'll have to work on that." He paused, then said, "That was good advice you gave him."

"He wasn't supposed to say anything," Tony said, frowning.

"You know McGee can't lie."

"He'll never be able to go undercover," Tony agreed.

"That's your thing, not his," Gibbs replied. "He's the tech guy, you're the chameleon."

Tony snorted. "That's me, changing my personality to suit whatever situation I'm in."

"That's a defense mechanism," Gibbs said.

"Ya think?" Tony said sarcastically. Gibbs raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

"Sorry, Boss," Tony said. "I'm just tired and sore."

"Has your father called or visited?" Gibbs asked.

Tony rubbed his face tiredly. "Yeah, he was here for a couple of hours the other day," he replied. "He had business in Maryland so he just had the pilot hop this way and dropped in for a visit. He's trying to make up for the years of spending so much time at work."

"He cares about you, Tony," Gibbs said.

"I know," Tony agreed. "It's just hard to get used to the 'kinder, gentler' Dad. I'm used to being ignored and having to jump through hoops to try to get his approval, which never really worked." He laughed and looked over at Gibbs. "It's a lot like what I do with you."

"You do like to get yourself noticed," Gibbs agreed. "Good or bad, you need that attention."

"Any kind of attention is better than none at all," Tony said. "Approval is better."

"You know I'm not one to baby my agents," Gibbs said. "You're expected to do your job well, I'm not going to pat you on the back or give you a lollipop every time you do."

"I know," Tony replied. "But you're a tough guy to please, it would be nice to get _some_ positive feedback once in awhile."

Gibbs shrugged. "You're my senior field agent," he said. "You've been on my team for six years - that's the longest anyone's lasted with me. That doesn't tell you something?"

"That I'm a glutton for punishment?" Tony grinned.

Gibbs laughed. "You could say that," he said. He stood up as Tony stifled a yawn. "You need to get some rest. Maybe you can stay upright for twenty minutes tomorrow."

Tony smiled tiredly. "I'll try, Boss. Thanks for coming."

Gibbs nodded. "We're going to follow up on the leads McGee got when he followed your advice. We might catch this guy soon."

"Hope so," Tony said sleepily.

"Goodnight, Tony."

"'night, Boss."

oOoOoOo

Late in the morning McGee reported on what he had learned about Staff Sergeant Dennis Friberg's childhood.

"Friberg's father was a office supplies salesman," McGee said. "He and his wife got married young and the Staff Sergeant was born seven months later."

"Shotgun wedding," Gibbs observed.

McGee shook his head. "By all accounts the two loved each other very much," he said, "and they seemed to have a loving family, according to neighbors. They had two more children pretty quickly after the first."

"Is his mother still alive?" Ziva asked.

McGee nodded. "I spoke to her. She seems like a very nice lady, she's very proud of her son. He sends her money every month and visits her at least once a year."

Later that afternoon Abby rushed into the squad room excitedly. "Gibbs, I've got great news," she said, bouncing excitedly in front of his desk. "Guess what it is."

"Abby," Gibbs growled warningly.

"You're no fun," she said, pouting. "I managed to tease a DNA sample from the evidence we got from the first murder. Now all you have to do is get a DNA sample from Friberg so we can match them up."

"He's never going to submit to that," Ziva said doubtfully. "We'll have to get a court order."

"I'm not waiting for a court order," Gibbs said. He picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Feel like going to question Staff Sergeant Friberg with me?" He paused, listening to the reply, then laughed. "I'll pick you up on my way out to Dahlgren."

"McGee," he said as he pulled his weapon out of the drawer and snapped it to his belt, "help Abby process the rest of the evidence from the older cases."

"Do you want me to go with you?" Ziva asked, rising from her chair.

Gibbs shook his head. "Fornell is coming with me; you help Abby and McGee."

With Gibbs driving, the two agents made the forty-five minute trip to Dahlgren in twenty minutes. Staff Sergeant Friberg was talking to his superior, Lieutenant Abel Franklin, when Gibbs and Fornell walked up.

"Special Agent Gibbs," Friberg greeted the agents warmly. "It's good to see you again. This is my boss, Lieutenant Franklin."

Gibbs nodded curtly. "This is Agent Fornell, FBI."

"Staff Sergeant Friberg told me about the murder of the young woman," Franklin said. "Is there something more you need from him?"

"We just thought he might be able to shed some light on the type of woman who hangs around military men," Gibbs said.

"I would think you would know that," Friberg said.

Gibbs laughed. "It's been awhile since I've had young ladies try to get my attention, things might have changed since I was in the service."

Fornell tried to look nonchalant, as he cast a furtive disbelieving look at Gibbs.

"I'm sure things haven't changed that much, Gunny," Friberg replied easily. "Some women get turned on when you talk about battle experiences. They like the excitement without the danger."

Gibbs nodded. "They're just looking for a good time?" he asked. "In my day, women were looking for husbands; they'd even go so far as to get themselves pregnant. You'd be on your way up the ladder and the next thing you know you're tied to someone you don't really love and you've got kids hanging off you. Pretty soon she's hassling you to leave the service and get a job that won't require to you to travel and you're stuck in a small town, in a loveless marriage with a shrewish wife and squalling babies."

Friberg had turned very still as Gibbs was talking, his face turning red.

"Women like that shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a military base," Gibbs continued. "They can ruin a good soldier, they're a threat to the country's safety."

Lieutenant Franklin shook his head. "I think that's a pretty old-fashioned, extreme…"

"Some men take responsibility for their actions," Friberg interrupted, "and do it willingly. Avoiding pregnancy was more difficult in your day, I imagine. It doesn't mean it was a way to trap a man."

Gibbs shook his head. "You avoided pregnancy by not having sex with any Tom, Dick or Harry that crossed your path," he said. "No, it was always a way to manipulate some poor idiot into ruining his life and getting saddled with a wife and kids he never really wanted. There's a word for women like that. Whores."

"Go to hell," Friberg hissed.

"Remind you of someone you know?" Gibbs asked.

Gibbs grunted as he was tackled by the furious Marine. Franklin started to separate the two men but was stopped by Fornell, who stood back and watched them roll on the ground. It appeared that the younger Marine was getting the upper hand with Gibbs, who was taking more than his share of the blows. At one point Friberg had his arm around Gibbs' throat and was choking him. Gibbs face was turning a deep red and Fornell almost stepped in when Gibbs threw his head back and crushed Friberg's nose, sending blood spurting down his face. Friberg let go of Gibbs and rolled onto his back, holding his nose with both hands.

Gibbs stood up unsteadily. He looked down at Friberg and smiled. "I'll be seeing you, Staff Sergeant," he said. He and Fornell went back to the car. Gibbs went to the trunk and pulled out a kit, holding out gloves, a swab and a jar to Fornell.

"What's this for?" Fornell asked.

Gibbs turned his back to the other agent. "Is there blood on the back of my head or my shirt?"

"Yeah," Fornell said.

"We've got our DNA sample."


	8. Chapter Seven

A/N: Sorry this last chapter is so short. That's the way the story broke up; I had to end the last chapter with Gibbs' line. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, they're greatly appreciated.

**Chapter Seven**

The DNA from the blood on Gibbs' head matched the sample taken from the first victim, over twenty years before. Staff Sergeant Dennis Friberg was taken into custody pending arraignment for the murder. Because he was a minor at the time of the young girl's death, Friberg's lawyer was trying to get his client acquitted using a loophole.

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon and the team was visiting Tony at the rehabilitation center. The remnants of a Chinese feast lay scattered around the room as everyone lounged in chairs after the heavy meal.

Not having to go through the rigorous therapy on a weekend, Tony was in a pretty good mood. He felt relaxed and happy, surrounded by his teammates and friends.

Narrowing his eyes, he looked at Gibbs' battered face and asked, "So, what does the other guy look like?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Except for a broken nose there isn't a scratch on him."

Surprised, Tony said, "Not one?"

"Nope," Gibbs replied.

"That was pretty sneaky of you," Ziva said admiringly. "The way you got Friberg's DNA sample.

"It worked, didn't it?" Gibbs grinned.

"Yes, it did," Ducky said. "You were lucky he didn't kill you. We still don't know if he'll actually get indicted for the murder."

"What set him off anyway?" McGee asked.

"Gibbs cast aspersions on his mother, albeit obliquely."

"Friberg worshipped his father," Gibbs explained. "But his father was chronically depressed. He had gotten his girlfriend pregnant and was obligated to marry her. Apparently, he had dreams of traveling around the world and doing 'great things' but he was stuck with a wife and children."

"By all accounts, he was a good man, and he loved his wife and children, but I guess deep down he felt trapped," Ducky continued the narrative. "He died a very sad, very dissatisfied man." He shook his head sadly.

"Friberg didn't consciously blame his mother for his father's depression," Gibbs said, "but he was aware of the reason for his father's state of mind. According to an old schoolmate, Wendy Fleischer, the first victim, liked Friberg and was very aggressive about wanting to be his girlfriend. Something inside him snapped and he killed her; he didn't want to be trapped the way his father had been. Killing her was cathartic, and whenever he felt pressured, he picked another victim.

"The district attorneys in the towns where the other victims are found will be watching his trial very carefully. If he's found guilty, they have enough circumstantial evidence to get him indicted on the other murders."

"And if they don't?" Tony asked.

"Then we try him in military court."

"Isn't that double jeopardy?" McGee asked.

"Two different courts of law," Tony replied, "two different jurisdictions. I have a feeling more concrete evidence on the other murders will show up, though."

Gibbs was silent.

"When are they going to release you, Tony?" Abby asked.

"Now that I can get around by myself fairly easily," Tony replied, "I'll be able to do my therapy on an outpatient basis. They said they're letting me out of here in about a week, maybe less. Then I'll take the medical transport they have to and from the center for rehab. I should be back at work pulling desk duty in maybe two or three weeks."

"You are not being driven by some service," Abby said firmly. "We've already discussed this, and we're going to take turns driving you to and from your sessions, unless there's a case, but even then we're going to work around it."

"You've already decided this?" Tony asked, surprised. "Don't I get a say in any of this?"

"No," was the resounding reply.

"We're family," Abby said. "Family takes care of family."

Tony looked at Gibbs helplessly, who said nothing, sitting in his chair, drinking his coffee and looking enigmatic.


End file.
